


Her Voice

by khaoticwoes



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Childhood Memories, Crying, Family, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fundy needs a hug, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Memories, Mother-Son Relationship, Piano, Sad, Sad Floris | Fundy, Tissue Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27699632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khaoticwoes/pseuds/khaoticwoes
Summary: Memories fade with time. And twelve years is a lot of time.
Kudos: 54





	Her Voice

Fundy wasn’t often a sad person. At least not around other people. But tonight he was alone, and he sat on his bed, trying not to cry. The past months of chaos had taken their toll. The bandages on his arms and torso covered scratches and burns from the explosion. That damned explosion. 

He was tapping his foot on the ground. He always did that. It was his metronome. The one thing in his life that stayed constant. He rubbed his eyes. Some of his friends had betrayed him. His nation crumbled not once, but twice. And his parents…

His nimble feet took his heavy soul to the piano. It was old and shouldn’t be working: it had been caught in the explosion as well. He had salvaged what he could and brought it up to the hill where he started building a house. It had been a sad sight. The keys that were left were chipped and stained with soot. The outer shell had been ripped apart, snapping some of the internal strings in the process. The damage was bad. But one morning, a week after the explosion, Fundy woke up to find it fixed. The job looked crude, but all of the important bits had been replaced. And the notes were tuned to perfection. He knew who had done it. It had been another person he had lost. 

He brought his calloused fingers to the keys. That was another thing the wars had taken from him. His fingers had been made for music, not destruction. They shook as he warmed up with scales. He felt guilty. He hadn’t practiced in so long. His hands felt stiff. His mind felt flooded. And so did his eyes. 

He let his hands stop playing to catch the tears. He felt so alone. Everyone seemed to have a family or claim to not need one. Everyone except him. The only remnant left was the ghost of his father, who fixed his piano. His father, who died after blowing up his family’s home. Fundy could never look him in his cold, dead eyes. He knew his father didn’t remember all of the horrible things his son had said and done, but he just couldn’t do it. His father only remembered the good days, the ones filled with sunshine and love. But Fundy remembered the bad ones, and that was what mattered. 

But there were things Fundy didn’t remember. He didn’t remember much of his childhood growing up in the sturdy black walls of his home. Those walls were gone now, but scattered rubble survived to tell the tale. He didn’t remember all of the songs his father had taught him to play on the piano. They were in books, he could learn them again. It would be painful. But there was one thing he could never replace. 

He could barely see her in his mind’s eye anymore. Her face was blurred in his memories. Her green dress and red hair were tiny fragments of what remained. But that wasn't the worst part. 

He couldn’t remember her voice.

**Author's Note:**

> (brought to you by waxflowerwoes, who is totally not projecting)


End file.
